


Day 25: Humiliation

by Aelaer



Series: Whumptober 2019 [25]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Demons, Demons Are Assholes, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt Stephen Strange, Psychological Torture, Whump, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 18:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelaer/pseuds/Aelaer
Summary: Oh, this was going to be an absolute delight.Strange turned his full attention to me. I could see his wariness in how he held himself, how he kept me within his sight as much as viably possible. The new Sorcerer Supreme had something of an inkling of my abilities and power, and was ready to fight if necessary.It truly was going to make the process of breaking him all the more enjoyable.(Please read the warning in the A/N regarding some topics discussed within the story, as it was difficult to cover in the tags.)
Series: Whumptober 2019 [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1510820
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Day 25: Humiliation

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third part of a series of other fics completed for the month of Whumptober:  
Part One: [Day 20 - Trembling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234269)  
Part Two: [Day 22 - Alt #6 - Lost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21278225)
> 
> While Infinity War and Endgame themes are alluded to, there is nothing explicitly stated in the content regarding specific events (beyond the Snap), so it's compatible with both canon and non canon reader preferences as to how the Thanos situation ended.
> 
> **WARNING:** This gets dark, kids. Nothing happens on screen and nothing is described in detail, but the narrator delights in discussing how easy it is to get desperate souls that were survivors of historical events that go under the umbrella term of "crimes against humanity". Everything spanning from the Armenian genocide to the current events with the Uighur people in China is referenced; sensitive topics covering a wide variety of human rights abuses (including dehumanization and crimes against children) are mentioned offhandedly throughout the tale. The worst of the last hundred years is discussed by an unsympathetic, manipulative being. Please proceed with caution.

> _"You've always excelled, but not because you crave success but because of your fear of failure." -The Ancient One_

Oh, this was going to be an absolute delight.

Strange saw his lady friend back to the mortal plane before turning his full attention back to me. I could see his wariness in how he held himself, how he kept me within his sight as much as viably possible. The new Sorcerer Supreme had something of an inkling of my abilities and power, and was ready to fight if necessary.

It truly was going to make the process of breaking him all the more enjoyable.

"What can be difficult about playing modern games with demonic beings," I started casually, "is that— besides not all of them being bipedal— several of them haven't really seen Earth in well over a century, as you count it. They have missed such wonderful innovations that the creativity and deviousness of the human race has produced in such a short period of time. Monopoly is a great example; such ruthlessness and lack of empathy for players of all ages!"

The sorcerer raised his brow. "Is that what you want to play? Monopoly?" Strange was doing his best to keep the incredulity out of his voice, but I could hear it. Of course I could.

I shook my head. "For the first game, I want something more active." I snapped my fingers.

I will forever cherish the look of confusion bleeding into clarity, the flash of dismay, and the quick mask that fell across his expression to cover it all. If I wasn't paying especially close attention to him, I surely would have missed it.

"_Bowling?_"

Our surroundings had turned into a quaint little bowling alley that existed somewhere in Arizona about fifty Earth years ago. I couldn't say if it still exists; its claim to fame in my realm was the soul of someone who used to work there, someone who was harassed, stalked, and humiliated to the point of calling up one of my grunts. She died and paid the debt of her soul about a year ago… I should summon her just to see her reaction.

Ah, but no, off tangent. The soul of the day was Stephen Strange.

"I've always liked bowling," I said. "It's much older than most humans realize, but I find the shoes people wear now quite funny." Of course I have us both wearing them. We are going _bowling_, after all.

Strange looked down at his feet— and his pair of bowling shoes— with a frown, then shot that frown at me. "Bowling. Seriously."

"Seriously." I smiled and allowed a glint of my power to shine out my eyes, just so he was aware of how serious I was.

He sighed and gestured towards the lanes. "After you, then."

I went over to the ball rack and chose a nice obsidian bowling ball; it had immediately drawn my eye. "Oh, no; I insist you go first. You are a guest in my realm, after all." He looked at me sidelong before turning towards the bowling balls with a slight frown; so he knew they weren't quite normal already. Good, good. "And," I added with a smile, "no cheating."

Strange paused in grabbing the ball. "What constitutes as cheating?"

"Breaking the normal rules of bowling, naturally," I answered. He narrowed his eyes, and I added, "And using anything other than your physical prowess for the game. This is a _physical_ game."

Neither of us looked towards his hands, but we didn't have to. His jaw tightened, but he remained silent as he reached for a bowling ball— and didn't break it until he touched it. Now Strange wasn't able to hide his clear surprise and he turned towards me with a frown. "You've put _souls_ within the bowling balls?"

I shrugged. "And?"

He pressed his lips together and carefully glided his shaking hand over each ball. With his power, he could certainly feel each of their personal sufferings, which gave each ball its own unique aura and tint of color. I thought it very creative, myself. He looked less amused as he eventually chose a largely white ball with tints of blue bleeding into black edges. Interesting.

Strange walked up to the lane, damaged fingers quivering as they held up the weight of the ball. Even without his physical handicap, this was going to be a losing game for him.

See, each soul colors the ball with it emotions; if Strange was wiser, he would have realized that the strongest of souls would be the hardest to physically wield in his hands, but have the most strength in correcting his disability because quite a few of these souls would love to one-up me. But his choice? That soul was cold, unfeeling. It wouldn't move beyond where it went. It didn't care. It was easier to hold a soul caught in stillness, perhaps brought some relief to his hands, but it would not help him win this game.

The soul that painted my bowling ball black knew only the weight of my power, so long that soul has been with me, and dared not alter the path I rolled.

And I watched expressionlessly as Strange did his best to roll the ball, but his hands simply lacked the strength. It got about halfway down the lane before falling into the gutter.

I said nothing as I rolled my ball down my lane. Five pins; not bad, considering it's been some years. Decades?

As Strange's ball came back to him, I said, "We'll play a full game." He pressed his lips together and didn't answer, but picked up the ball once again.

A full game of bowling involves two shots at clearing the ten pins, and your next one or two shots counting towards your previous score with each spare or strike, respectively. The point is, Strange had two shots to try and clear pins before the rack was reset with a new frame. After the tenth frame, it was game over.

My game really didn't matter; I got eight points in my first frame and a spare in my second. Strange, Strange was struggling and the ball had gone in the gutter four times.

Time to up the ante.

"Tell you what, Doctor," I said as my lane reset with a third frame. "You manage a spare, and I'll free that soul in your hands."

He froze and stared my way as I rolled the ball again. Ugh, only two pins. "And if I don't?" he asked.

"Then they remain with me." I shrugged. "Simple as that."

I could feel his suspicion. "You will free this soul if I manage a spare? What sort of soul is in here?"

I spared it a look. Oh, yes. "Hers is a pitiful story. Sex trafficking victim from Vietnam, sent to Europe. I forget where; it doesn't really matter, does it?" My ball came back and I played my shot. Sure, I'll take five pins. "She escaped, eventually. She wanted revenge. She got it, too, and she was pretty clever about her request." And a couple of my demons had a right field day with that one; she was a good score. "But she didn't exactly find the peace she was searching for, did she? Her soul's frozen, stone-cold. Poor thing."

From the corner of my eye I saw Strange look down at the bowling ball with a renewed determination. I kept an eye on him, of course, but went back to my own game as he tried once more. But me, I'd like to get at least one strike. Me getting a strike wasn't the point, but a strike _would_ be nice.

A silence fell between us as we worked on our own games. I didn't need to speak to him any further; I could feel the growing agitation, tiredness, pain, and outright humiliation as the ball continued to sink in the gutter again… and again… and again.

Hard to help a soul that doesn't really care anymore, after all.

I heard him hiss in pain when I was about to roll for my ninth frame. He exhaled slowly through his nose, then picked up the ball again. Hmm.

Oh, I made a strike! I beamed to myself, then rolled twice for the last frame before turning my full attention to Strange.

He was still on the seventh frame; the last frame he managed to get it near the end of the lane before it sunk into the gutter, and it appeared he was trying a similar technique. It put extra strain on his fingers, though, and I could see him gritting his teeth against the hurt.

On frame eight, he knocked down two pins in his first roll. I raised my brow; surely he wasn't going to actually accomplish this? His hands with the combination of that soul put the stakes against him.

Ah, no, there it went in the gutter.

Frame ten got three pins knocked down in the first roll, while the second, again, went in the gutter at the very end.

"Ooh, too bad," I hissed. "Nice try, though."

He stared ahead down his lane, not meeting my gaze. I could see him stretch what were surely fingers that throbbed in deep pain, and the waves of frustration and humiliation were so obvious that I could taste them.

It was delicious. Time for the next step.

"Next game," I said, waving away the bowling alley, shoes and all. "Something less strenuous on your hands— though that's not _my_ fault. It isn't anyone's fault, really— other than your own." Strange gave me a hard look but managed to keep the anger I could feel simmering inside him under control. Not bad.

Another snap, and two chairs and a table chess set appeared before me. "I've heard you're the ultimate chessmaster, Doctor Strange. Come play a game or two with me." I sat down on the black side.

He walked up and sat stiffly in the chair across from me. He studied the pieces with pursed lips. "There are souls within the pieces."

Not a question, but I confirmed it with a nod. "Each piece. 32 unique souls with different stories, but this time," I could not help but smile, "it's themed."

His expression remained unmoving. "And what is your theme, Mephisto?"

I clapped my hands together and leaned back in my chair. "Something you should know if you don't already, Doctor, is that beings such as myself can sense the general amount of chaos and suffering upon the mortal plane. There is always some and, in Earth's case, some parts of your world have more concentrated areas than others in various times of humanity's existence.

"When significant amounts of Earth's population suffer, it's an absolute feast for my type. Famines, plagues, and wars are all ripe for the picking. It's always when you sorcerers are the busiest, doing your best to close off all connections to other dimensions taking advantage of humanity's most chaotic times. And I'll give your order credit: it has found many of the breaches between realities, whether they be rifts, summonings, or cursed items."

I grinned. "But you never find them all. Agamotto didn't, the Ancient One didn't, and you most certainly will not." Strange didn't react, so I continued, "My personal favorite type of wide human suffering, though, are genocides. So that's the theme!"

His lips down-turned and he looked down at the board. "How did victims of genocide come to be in your possession?"

"Oh, they're not direct victims," I answered. "You humans killed all the direct victims before they had any chance of connecting to any sort of extra-dimensional source— and I've got some of the instigator's souls here, stored away somewhere." Maybe we could play with those souls, later. That's a thought. "These are the survivors that wanted their families back, or wanted revenge, or saw what was in the future and wanted safety for their family. All touching stories, truly. If I had a heart, it would break."

Strange was doing his best to keep the mask up, I'll give him that.

"There were so many genocides to choose from," I continued, "that I had to limit it to the last hundred or so years. The twentieth century was such a volatile time, wasn't it? The twenty-first hardly compared, but then there was Thanos's ultimate genocide— though you helped with that one, didn't you?"

He pressed his lips into a tight, tight line. Sore spot.

I tapped the table with several fingers in a repetitive pattern. For some reason, the motion drove some souls insane; maybe he'd be the sort, too. "Humans that commit acts of genocide, their souls turn into rotted things. They're still functioning, but their aura's something like the spiritual equivalent of rotten eggs. Do you think your soul's smelling rotten, Doctor?"

"Are you going to continue rambling the next few hours," Strange asked lowly, "or are we going to play chess?"

I gestured to the board. "White goes first."

He studied the board for another half-minute before pushing the pawn forward. As it entered the final square, Strange inhaled sharply and pulled his hand away. He gave me an equally sharp look, and his gaze held an obvious, silent question.

"Well, he knows he's a pawn," I said. "Just as he was meaningless while alive, he's of little worth here. And he knows he will likely be sacrificed in this game."

"And why would that make a soul fearful?"

I smiled. "Being knocked off the board in this game isn't what I would call a painless process. But sacrifice is part of playing chess."

His gaze remained hard. "I can just refuse to play chess."

Shrugging, I said, "Then all thirty-two souls will share the same fate."

Despite his emotionless facade, Strange was radiating anger. I'm not sure if he realized that I could sense it. "Then it's your turn, Mephisto," he finally said.

Again I smiled at him and made my move.

It was another few minutes before the first blood was shed. I needed to move my rook and a pawn was in the way, so it needed to go. As my rook knocked it over, a horrified scream filled the area.

"The soul in the pawn relived the moment that was in his thoughts when he decided to sell his soul to extract revenge," I explained. "In this case, this man, when he was still a boy, saw his mother and sisters brutally raped before they were slaughtered as part of the Armenian Genocide. Unpleasant."

Strange closed his eyes and said nothing. He then opened them again and looked at the board before making another move.

He didn't ask me to tell the stories of the souls in the pieces as they screamed and sobbed with their removal from the board. Didn't matter; I was more than happy to tell him all about each little soul.

"Cambodian genocide; he was one of many untrained child doctors forced to work by the regime. He sold his soul to replace all his memories; now he gets to relive all the horrors he forced upon people for his own pitiful life."

"Oh, a Holocaust victim. But this one wasn't one of the Jewish Holocaust victims— I have only a couple of their souls, stubborn buggers— but one of the Romani survivors. Went to a camp and everything. Those camps were _horrific_. I am always so impressed at the depravity humanity sinks to; it's worse than any soulless creature is capable of. An absolute delight, the creativity and ingenuity."

"That knight holds the soul of a de-facto leader of a small Ukrainian village during the Holodomor. Stalin was something else, wasn't he? But this one, he sold his soul to spare his village of the Soviet's instigated famine. Got another from Kazakhstan who did the same thing a couple years beforehand. I think they used the same relic, too; don't ask me how it travelled all that distance. I saw Earth in the 1930s; awful period for humanity, fantastic time for us."

"Are you sure you want to sacrifice that bishop, Doctor? That there is a soul of a former pastor who lost faith in his God after WWII. He did real good with his soul bargain, to the point I almost rejected the deal… but the soul of a former so-called Man of God? I couldn't resist! The good always ends sooner or later, anyway. Humanity is so good at ruining what good you try to instigate on your world. It's so much fun to watch."

"Oh, this one's from Rwanda. You were a child during the Rwandan genocide, weren't you? While you were doing whatever children do, this soul, once a teacher, was forced into sexual slavery for the three months the genocide took place. Both of _her_ children were killed. The rest of the world ignored it while it happened, of course. But humans are very good at ignoring the suffering of those that don't have any connection with them. Speaking of which, if you could stop blocking my demons in western China, Doctor Strange, we might get some real good done there before the Uighurs are completely extinct." I shot him a bright grin. "A few souls to save a people! Really, you should consider it."

That last comment especially pissed him off. Delightful. But it _would_ be so fun to turn China into a chaotic war zone… that or the United States, both are gold-standard this century of humanity. But China, well... Satannish still claims he was behind Mao, but Satannish is a lying bastard and I don't believe him nearly creative enough for it. _I_ know I could do something _fantastic_.

I _may_ have gotten a bit distracted by watching his growing melancholy that he did a fair job disguising with his annoyance. Regardless, I also _may_ have made a mistake in the game and put myself in a corner.

"That one of yours in the rook, that was a former police officer in Germany—

"Checkmate," Strange said, cutting me off, and I looked down in surprise.

"Would you look at that." I offered him a smile. "Well done, Doctor."

He didn't return my smile. I wasn't expecting him to, but he didn't acknowledge my compliment, either. Rude of Strange, really.

Time for another game. I waved the chessboard away and stood. "Come with me."

We didn't need to actually walk, but I wanted to give Strange some time to really consider the fact that thus far, his actions had caused him being unable to save a soul and pushed more so-called "innocent" souls to suffer further. Earlier Sorcerer Supremes were not as soft-hearted as Doctor Strange seemed to be, from what I have seen and from what I can sense. He tries to conceal his emotions from me, and if we were on Earth, I would have no awareness as to what was brewing inside him; he's adept enough to do so, I'll give him that.

But we were in _my_ realm, and in my realm— I see all.

I had us arrive to a small arena, or rather its outer entrance. Crossing my hands behind my back, I looked over at the young Sorcerer Supreme and his aura, his myriad of raging emotions that he so tried to control. "I understand that some of this may have been a trying process, Doctor; I can feel your frustration from here. You need to let it out."

Strange stared at me wordlessly and I gestured to the hall that led into the arena. "A small tournament, of sorts. I have a score of souls that are, frankly put, just not worth the effort of maintaining anymore. They're going to a soul-devourer. But that all can change with you here, Doctor!"

I started down the hall and, as expected, he followed me in. "The arena has ten openings currently gated off. Inside each area will be two souls enclosed in separate gems. There's also going to be one of mine watching over the souls. You can try asking them nicely to give you the gems, but I don't think that will work." I smirked a bit. "A couple demons might join in from the stands to have a go at you, too. Don't worry; they won't kill you. I won't allow it." Not without his soul sealed to come to my realm; killing him without it would be an utter waste at this point. Killing him earlier in his life would have been convenient, but now that I _know_ him? No, I need his soul. They won't dare kill him.

"And the rules?" he asked.

Not completely lost in his emotions, yet. "A gem won't come to you until you touch it by hand. As the soul-devourer is expecting _something_, you may only save up to ten souls. Once you touch it, it's yours to take; no take-backs. However," I smiled, "each room contains what you would consider a more 'innocent' soul and what you may call a 'much-less-innocent' soul."

"Still souls that should be released to go the final path," he said.

"Then release them," I answered. "Take both and do five rooms. The other five rooms will go to the soul-devourer."

Strange pressed his lips into a thin line again. Ah, there was that frustration.

We stopped at the closed doors that led to the ground of the arena. "You have until the hourglass is done pouring to choose what souls you desire to save. This shouldn't be difficult for you; you've done it before." The vague reference to the Decimation again pained him, and oh, this was going to be so much fun to watch.

"Is that all?" he asked lowly. "No restrictions on my abilities?"

"No bringing in outside help, naturally," I said. "Otherwise, do what you will."

He stared at the doors that led into the arena. "When do I begin?" he muttered.

I could not help but grin. "Now." I snapped my fingers to open the doors and disappeared from his view, transporting myself on a lovely balcony seat with the best views.

He then saw the hourglass and I could feel his despair from my seat as he immediately got to work.

I used the term 'hourglass', but, well, it may have been more accurate to say it was a minute glass. A ten minute glass, to be precise. I personally thought I was being more than generous in giving him a minute per room, considering his level of abilities.

And Strange _was_ powerful, even in my realm. Within the first minute he had forced the gate to break open, trapped the grunt in the room with those crimson bands to the broken metal bars of the gate, then hesitated in front of the pedestal with the two gems before picking up only the one and flying to the second gated entrance built into the arena.

The grunts in the stands were having an absolute blast. (Maybe I should do something like this more often, just for a morality boost on occasion. Don't want them being poached by other hells; that would be such a headache.) But as I suspected, when Strange easily trapped the rather weak imp I had in that room and got a second gem just after a minute thirty, they began to get antsy.

As Strange trapped the third grunt the same way as the other two (not very flashy, but efficient), the first wave jumped out of the stands and into the arena to charge at him. It looked like somewhere between half-a-dozen and ten, all of various sizes, and Strange was just able to secure a third gem-housed soul when they attacked.

Now here's a real show. A shield, a whip, knocking them off their feet with some sort of gust of wind before ascending into the air.

And now some of the winged demons were joining in the fun. Oh yes. This was going to get very good.

He was blocking their attacks and trying to restrain them and push them out of his way to get to the fourth room. They weren't letting him. One smaller winged imp managed to somehow grab on his leg and is— yes, he just bit him. Strange shouted in pain and his cloak ripped the imp off. One of bigger winged guys— oh, that was Jorrul. Jorrul is an impressive demonic being, not one I'd want to lose to another hell, for sure. But he just punched Strange right down towards the dirt and the taller guys on the ground were able to grab his legs and his cloak and drag him down. Strange was still moving and it wasn't _too_ bloody, but if I had to remind them not to kill him, I was going to be a bit peeved.

Still, I kept an open eye out. It'd be a right annoyance to lose his soul just like that, after all this work I've done for the la—

Shit! _Ouch_, that singed a bit. That was— that was a lot of lighting. Color me impressed.

The guys still in the stands were rubbing their arms and legs and whining about the ache, but the guys in the arena? Completely knocked out. Not dead— can't really kill them here— but all the grunts that had been restraining him were singed nice and crisp. The demons that had some distance to Strange were struggling to get up, and half the winged grunts were knocked out of the sky. Those that were still up looked a bit disoriented.

And where was— oh, there's Strange. Ah, that's more blood than I thought it was, but it looks like he went into the fourth room and got— oh, both stones this time. I looked at the hourglass; that fight had eaten about four minutes of time. I did warn him that they'd join from the stands, didn't I?

He was a bit slower in contorting the grate covering the fourth room and by that time, several grunts in the stands decided they were annoyed enough to have a go at Strange, themselves. The ones with a bit more self-preservation stayed away, and I kept note of who did what. Good to know which ones were more likely to rush into danger, and which ones wanted to stay corporeal longer.

I should have done this eons ago.

Both the demon inside room four and the new crowd from the stands converged onto Strange. He immediately put a protective shield around himself, wincing as they blasted fire and pounded upon it. His journey into the room was painfully slow, and naturally he'd need to drop the shield in order to grab the soul-infused gems.

I blinked, and suddenly there were thirty copies of Strange each engaged with a demon, trying to contain them in some manner. In the meantime, I saw a rather exhausted-looking copy exit the fourth room and go for the fifth door. There was the real one.

I glanced at the hourglass; oh, about thirty seconds left. Was he going to be able to do this?

Twenty seconds, and the gated door was thrown open. Oh, he might just be able— oh, no. The audience over door five figured they could take him. They… couldn't, they really couldn't, but they _did_ delay him those extra few seconds as he dealt with all of them.

Five seconds, and his cloak picked him up and tried to rush him to the gems— oh, brave imp. Stupid imp, but brave imp grabbing onto the cloak to stop it for a couple seconds—

Time.

I clapped, and then I was in the middle of the arena, the demons still standing set in a circle about me. Strange was on his knees, hands outstretched as if to take something.

"Ooh, just a second too late," I tsked as Strange became aware of his new surroundings. He got up to his feet, looking much less like the proud Sorcerer Supreme I saw on his plane of reality when this all began. The bite on his leg was a good size, and I don't think his robes were salvageable with how many blood-covered tears it had. But I guess he could magic that away.

That wasn't the point. "Six out of ten," I hummed. "Not terrible."

He didn't reply. He was catching his breath and bleeding all over the place, and some of the imps were clearly getting antsy. They needed to get out of here.

"Go," I told the crowd, and within the next ten seconds they all popped out of existence, though I could feel several eyeballs hiding behind crevices, watching and waiting. "He's not for eating," I shouted at the lurkers; a few of them buggered off. The rest, it seemed, were just curious. Fine.

I closed the distance between us and inhaled; oh, the humiliation of failure was heavy upon his heart. "I'm not so sure you will survive any further games," I murmured. Strange exhaled softly and again said nothing. Not one to beg; I expected that of him, which is why I went with this approach in the first place. "Fortunately, I consider myself fully satiated. That was most entertaining."

Strange's brow furrowed. "It is… it's only been four hours at most."

"Here, at least," I answered, lips stretching into a grin. "Time works differently in this dimension, Doctor; you will find that you have been gone for about thirteen hours on Earth, and thirteen is such an excellent number to end on." I made a point to look him up and down. "And I'm ending it before you end up expiring on my doorstep. I'd rather not deal with your pitiful corpse." I waved towards my side, and a portal to Earth appeared. This one I did not mind their order knowing about and closing; I hadn't been able to find anyone to tempt in Fukushima since that damn earthquake. "Go, before I change my mind." I wouldn't, but saying that amused me.

He put on his mask and straightened before walking through, but Strange's aura, his emotional status, was still completely clear to me: now he walked away with the cloud of pain, humiliation, and failure about him.

It wasn't his soul, granted, but it was a sweet victory nonetheless. And with luck, it would lay upon his shoulders for a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> A ramble:
> 
> I'm a big history nut with great interest in both the most magnificent and most atrocious things humanity has managed in our few thousand years of organized, well-recorded civilizations. And the canon of the Marvel universe really makes one think.
> 
> For instance, with powers that people like sorcerers have, it made me wonder how atrocities like historical genocides could exist when, say, a sorcerer could portal all camp guards to Antarctica and portal everyone else out. While secrecy is important, throughout most of history random people would have considered it divine intervention, likely. It made me think that in the Marvel universe, the magical communities must have been so busy fighting off inter-dimensional incursions and invasions to keep the planet afloat, that they simply didn't have breathing room to look further into atrocities committed by people who were otherwise human— and that the number of inter-dimensional warring grows greater the more chaotic the planet is, with the chaos drawing in these demonic entities, world-eating trying to take advantage of the disorder.
> 
> At least, that's my justification for it. Because "keeping it secret" only goes so far, especially from the twentieth century onwards. I have to presume that they simply did not have the manpower to stop humans committing awful things on wide scales in an area, and just had to keep the entire earth safe instead of entire populations.
> 
> And it does make the Marvel universe all the more sobering and terrifying.
> 
> As a footnote: If you are unaware of the genocide the Chinese communist party has been committing on the Uighurs, the Muslim minority group in their westernmost province in the present day, I encourage you to read about the issue. It's unfortunately been happening for some time, and in the last couple years has only gotten worse and more systematic.


End file.
